Eisheth's Call
by DarthPixie
Summary: A continuation of Jacqueline Carey's 'Kushiel's Legacy', of Fantasy Medieval Europe
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor could ever pretend to own any of Jacqueline Carey's magnificent characters or other works. Only Nathalie is of my own creation. The lands, the names, the languages, all are Carey's work. Also, pardon my lack of accent marks. My computer will not allow me to add many of them. Thank you.  
  
Eisheth's Call  
  
******  
  
Prologue  
  
I do not scare easily.  
  
What reason would I have to do such? I am the daughter of honored lineage, able to trace the roots back to the golden days of the Tiberium Empire. I am D'Angeline, descended from the seed of Angels and Men. I dwell in Terre D'Ange, the land of Blessed Elua and his companions, renegade Angels aiding the son of Yeshua ben Yosef and Mary Magdelene's tears, born from the Earth's womb.  
  
I am the daughter of the Duchese Roxanne de Mereliot and the Royal Admiral Quintilius Rousse. I bear the name Nathalie de Mereliot, the future Duchese and Lady of Marsilikos. All my life I have been trained as befitted a scion of Eisheth, whose lands of Eisande is where Mereliot and Marsilikos lie, to toast with peerage of Terre D'Ange. My parents are both held in high regard in the eyes of Queen Ysandre de la Courcel of Terre D'Ange. Such a list of prestige does not allow much room for fright, or nervousness.  
  
But Elua help me, I was.  
  
That day was my debut, as the people called it; more accurately, it was merely a fete I was to attend, in which I would be recognized for my accession to adulthood at the age of 17 years. Many young adults do such a thing at a younger age; Naamah's Servants, the courtesans of the Realm, for one. Attired in an elegant gown of crimson, I doubt I betrayed signs of nerves. My dark curls, gained from my mother's line, were artfully bound back, in an intricate cornet which accentuated my long, slender neck. Crimson cloth, almost a garnet hue, so dark it was, clothed my slight frame as closely as a second skin, flaring at the wrists and at the waist. It was simple in design, but cunningly created to emphasize my slim waist, fair complexion, and delicate features. I was particularly fond of the wide sleeves; I will never claim to not have vanity.  
  
As for my face, there was only a touch of carmine on my lips, and a dab of kohl to accent my dark blue-gray gaze, inherited from my father. There was no mirror present, but I was quite sure that this feature alone, my eyes, belied my ease, the liquid movements taught since I was just into childhood. Perhaps they were stormy, as the seas my father transverses; or merely troubled, as the waves that lap at the city of Marsilikos. Either way, the eyes are the windows into the soul; and my soul was nervous, I daresay.  
  
Let it be known it was not the amount of personage in the grandly decorated ballroom, with vines and floating candles, tinkling fountains and singing birds that unsettled my carefully held nerves. It was not the presence of the Queen, King, and Princesses; I had spent enough time with them to be familiar with them. It was not the arrival of the Alban assembly; I could hear the faint strains of their tongue, one I knew well. Neither was it the enormity of this action, of becoming a recognized adult in the society of Terre D'Ange.  
  
It was, I confess, partly unknown to even I. Simple nerves, unable to track to any one beginning. My mother told me this was normal the night just past; every girl felt such the night before her debut. My father told me it was nothing of consequence; nerves sharpen your mind. This in part helped quell some of the errant feelings, out of place in my demeanor.  
  
The other part, quite embarrassingly, was the appearance of a courtesan, a Cassiline, and a young man.  
  
Before you write me off as a foolish girl, take this into account. This courtesan was the most famed in the land, Kushiel's Chosen, marked so by the spot of red amongst the otherwise unmarred dark pools of her eyes. This Cassiline engaged in a duel to death to defend the Queen, the beauty of the fight so encompassing it halted a riot. Also worth mentioning is that these two saved my country not once, not twice, but three times.  
  
If this were not enough to send my mind reeling, the young man certainly completed the transition from calm to near retching with nerves. With hair the color of the midnight sky, a commanding tall, lean figure, and a complexion to send the loveliest ladies scurrying for their powder, he was without a doubt the most handsome creature I have ever seen. His eyes were what captured me; sapphire, startling blue, enough to steal whatever breath you may have left.  
  
I know this because my own gaze caught upon his as he descended the grand staircase into the main room, and held for a heartbeat before he looked away, turning to the courtesan- his foster mother, the Comtesse de Montreve, I must add.  
  
The mention of the Comtesse, Kushiel's Chosen, and the Cassiline, recognizable because of the steel vambraces on his forearms, should be sufficient to dub the young man in their company. His description only reinforces this name. For those of you not well acquainted with the D'Angeline peerage, I shall tell you.  
  
I had hinged my gaze upon Imriel no Montreve de la Courcel, Prince of the Blood. 


	2. The Descent

Disclaimer: Again, I do not own any of these characters but Nathalie. Please comment, tell me what you think. This chapter will explain more about their customs. No flames, please. Also, statements within the :: are thoughts, as I have yet to learn the HTML required for fanfiction, Thank you again  
  
Eisheth's Call  
  
****** Chapter One: Debut  
  
A moment, perhaps two, was all required before I managed to gain control over my rioting nerves. ::He's a boy, you fool, stop behaving like a desperate child!:: The word child snapped the areas of my mind to order, seething at the notion of addressing me as such.  
  
"M'lady?"  
  
Whirling about at the voice, a young boy, perhaps 15 years of age, gulped and then dropped a bow. With a muttered word, too quiet to be understood by any one save one trained to hear such things, I responded with a nod of my head.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"They are ready to announce you." The interchange was rapid, and for a moment a haze of gray-green, like foam from a wave, threatened to overtake my vision. Blinking to clear my eyes I nodded once again, turning away from my perch overlooking the ballroom. The haze lingered, then drew away, as did the fact of its presence, sorted away to puzzle about later. Padding towards the infamous staircase, where ever so many peers of the Realm had waited impatiently for their name to be announced, I drew in a breath.  
  
The need to ask the beings who watch over my country for luck on this day took me by surprise, and right between my ribs, an insistent nudge. Never before had I felt a need to pray to Blessed Elua or any of his companions for aid. The story of their arrival to the lands of Terre D'Ange is known to every child in these parts. As I waited, my mind drifted to such matters, borne upon the wind of strength, using the knowledge I had learned so long ago to calm my nerves.  
  
As Yeshua ben Yosef lay dying upon the cross, Mary Magdalene had wept, tears falling to mix with the blood of the dying man. Taken into the Earth's womb, an Angel was born, Elua, who held but one precept: Love as thou wilt. Abhorred by the Yeshuites, of whom Yeshua, Elua's father was one a part of, scorned by the One God, his father's father, and considered an enemy of the Tiberium Empire, Elua wandered the Earth, bare feet trudging across the land of his mother, the Earth. Along with him came seven companions, fallen Angels: Naamah, Anael Azza, Cassiel, Eisheth, and Kushiel. As they wandered across the lands, if ever Elua hungered, Naamah would lie with merchants and the like for money for food; and none would begrudge him, so merry was his soul. Singing and crowned with vines of leaves, Elua and the companions found the land of Terre D'Ange, yet unnamed.  
  
The One God, after having mourned the death of his son Yeshua ben Yosef, sent his Commander in Chief to retrieve his errant relative. Elua greeted the messenger kindly but refused, and so the creature returned empty handed. A second messenger, his Arch-Herald was sent, with the bidding to take him by force is necessary. Elua borrowed a dagger from Cassiel and scored his palm, the blood dripping onto the rich soil beneath.  
  
"The Heavens of my grandfather are bloodless. And I am not." With those words Blessed Elua sealed himself and his companions to Terre D'Ange, mixing their seed with mortals, granting the D'Angeline beauty and refinement beyond other races. The One-God and his once wife, Mother-Earth, created a Terre D'Ange beyond, a perfect world to whence the companions journeyed.  
  
Before they did so, they divided the lands, each companion taking a parcel and gifting it with their own talents. Elua took but a city, the City of Elua, the capital of my beloved country. Cassiel took naught, content to be the Perfect Companion to Elua, with only a brotherhood of expertly trained guards to his name.  
  
"Duchese? Duchese!" A voice, calling from somewhere, shook me from my trance-like state. I blinked back the fog of the past, farther back then I could possibly imagine. "Duchese, have you heard one word I have uttered to you?" That voice. Again. A vulgar word came to mind, but I had the presence of mind to tamper it, turning to face the speaker.  
  
It was the herald, middle-aged face irritated. "You young folk, never listening when people speak to you. Always off in a daydream." The man muttered darkly, bringing a touch of color to my cheeks.  
  
"I apologize, Messire, I was unaware anyone required my attentions." I admit my tone was rather frosty, annoyance held in check- though just barely. "What was it you so urgently needed me for?" A harsh, exaggerated sigh escaped from his parted lips, pursed in exasperation.  
  
"To announce you, duchese. We've proclaimed your name already, once at least." 'Twas my turn to emit an incensed sound, though the nature of mine was for more vulgar than his. The teachings instilled in me when I was but a child still held the power to command my complete attention, it seemed, much to my chagrin.  
  
There was much I would have said to the man, had I had the time necessary for such an endeavor. Alas, it was not to be so. My name was spoken, quite clearly, audible over the laughter and music vibrating from the musicians creating pleasant sounds. Throwing a glare over my shoulder, directed at the herald, I rested my palm upon the cool wooden surface of the railing. I felt, rather then saw, the many eyes of the peerage of Terre D'Ange turn in my direction.  
  
A breath, mayhap two; I stood there, like a thief caught in the act in a bright beam of light. My mind went blank for a heartbeat, the only thing registering on my senses was the incessant attention, the murmurs of the crowd below. I know not what broke this reverie. Doubtless many though I was merely pausing for the attention, to flaunt my passable beauty to the peerage of Terre D'Ange, hoping the young men noticed. A chuckle; a cough; a titter; whatever it was, it returned me to my senses.  
  
My long fingers closed over the wooden surface of the railing, maintaining a light hold as I descending. Silk skirts whispering ever so softly, head held high, chin erect; I daresay I did all and more of what I was taught, so carefully trained to do. Much as it pained me to admit it, the herald had aided me- not a trace of nerves could I still feel. The annoyance had cleared my mind, fanning the flame which fed my defiant nature. Nothing anyone has ever done has been able to tamper this side of me.  
  
With a mental shrug I continued down, almost startled when the cool marble of the floor met my slipper clad feet. Some might believe the worst was over after having descended those dratted stairs; I, for one, was relieved, but was not averse to simply ascending them and departing. Various nobles of Terre D'Ange moved towards me, reminding me faintly of a swarm of locusts. ::Only difference is that locusts devour plants.:: The rogue voice in my mind chortled after whispering such, inspiring a smile on my visage.  
  
Peerage surrounded me, the group slowly moving away from the dreaded stairs and more towards the dancing, where couples already twirled with light- hearted abandon. A chattering of voices seized my senses, absently listening to at least three conversations but understanding none. A flurry of movement caught my gaze in one direction; a riot of color in another. Imperceptibly my mind took on a numb stance, politely reacting to all but truly noticing none. One young man asked me to dance, blush tinting his fair cheeks. I had but opened my mouth to reply when another voice carried over the throng of persons.  
  
"Marsilikos! I believe you promised me the first dance." Eyes bright, I rose up on my tiptoes, looking for the source of the voice I knew well. I picked him out easily, striding towards the group I was currently imprisoned within. Garbed in a ceremonial naval costume, the striking figure made his way through easily, persons parting to give way. Gray streaked dark hair was cropped short, as was the style, blue-gray eyes as merry as the sea on a brisk day. If nothing else, the eyes would give him away; if not that, then the various awards positioned on his chest.  
  
My father. 


	3. First Encounter

Disclaimer: Again, I do not own any of these characters but Nathalie. Please comment, tell me what you think. This chapter will explain more about their customs. No flames, please. Also, statements within the :: are thoughts, as I have yet to learn the HTML required for fanfiction, Thank you again.  
  
Eisheth's Call  
  
******  
  
Chapter Two: First Encounter  
  
The smile previously rather pasted upon my visage widened, gaining both size and feelings. With a murmured apology to the young man who had inquired over my interest in a dance, explaining the promise briefly, I excused myself from the crowd. He was waiting nearby, his arms crossed behind his back. An impish grin lightened his expression as he caught sight of me, a delighted mischievous glint to his gaze.  
  
It took a great deal of will power not to fling my arms about him. For all of the titles and honor bestowed upon my forbearers, all still follow the precept of Elua: Love as thou wilt. And it was truth that I loved my father.  
  
In addition to being rather wroth with him at this moment, albeit amused.  
  
"Hello Rousse. I thought you were sailing the straits." 'Twas a tradition of ours, to use rather unceremonious titles until one of us laughed. Teeth sinking into my tongue to keep from chuckling, I managed to maintain a polite expression, at odds with the informal tone my voice had taken on. "A lovely thing, sneaked up on your own flesh and blood and not alerting them to the fact they would be attending."  
  
At this the Royal Admiral set his hands upon his hips, imitating my mother- or perhaps me, as I took the stance often. "Oh, have I relatives at this fete? What a pity. I tend to avoid them." His tone belied the insult that may have lay within the coils of his words, a teasing vein running through them.  
  
"I'm afraid you do. And I believe you also owe one a dance, as you so rudely interrupted her other choice's words." I nigh choked back on the laughter, on the surprise. My father had not planned to attend this night- he had been out at sea. How he managed to ride from the coast to the City of Elua with no notice escaped me, but he did not become the Royal Admiral without a semblance of luck.  
  
"Oh yes.I do remember now." Grinning fit to split his face in twain, my father swept me up in his arms in a near bone-cracking embrace. Coughing to allow a trace of air into my lungs a laugh escaped, but from which one I know not. My father set me down before tiny black spots overtook my vision, signaling a lack of oxygen. "Well, shall I claim my dance?"  
  
Eyes watering from the strong hold my father had used on me, I managed a nod. "That is a lovely idea." I replied, and laid the tips of my fingers upon the arm that was proffered. Gravely the Royal Admiral led me to the dance floor, taking one hand and laying the other one at my waist in the correct position, as I rested my free hand on his shoulder.  
  
The dance was a waltz, one both I and my father knew well. I enjoyed this particular dance, for it was not so difficult so that you could not speak. It required concentration for beginners, but I was no longer at that level. Neither was my father, which I was most grateful for; I rather like my feet whole and well.  
  
"How in the world did you get from the Straits to here so quickly without a soul finding out?" I queried as we whirled about the floor, murmurs of approval from the gathered audience. "Mama certainly said nothing." A twinkle in his eye appeared at the mention of my mother, and my eyes narrowed. "You kept it from me!"  
  
A ringing laugh echoed from my father, not mentioned upon by others.  
  
"Your mother and I are not senile. We are perfectly able to keep surprises from our own daughter." He replied, rather smugly in my opinion. "The outcasts from the Three Sisters were doing better then expected; 'twas easy to leave the ships under the control of my second hand and race back. Surely it's not a crime to attend my only child's debut."  
  
Glaring darkly at him I said nothing for a minute, my anger entirely mocked. I truly was thankful for his presence and not the least bit mad; after all, it was a lovely surprise. I maintained the look of annoyance for the sake of appearance, before discarding it and turning to other matters.  
  
"That's it for the season, isn't it? The Cruarch is sailing back in a fortnight or less, is he not?" The Cruarch was the ruler of the Albans, who also happened to be married to Ysandre de la Courcel, the queen of Terre D'Ange. Commonly the two spent their summers together and their winters apart, with trips in-between when necessary.  
  
"Ah, yes. Drustan is sailing back quite soon; along with Sibeal and Hyacinthe." Sibeal was the sister of Drustan, the mother of his heirs; the Albans employed a system where the sister-son inherited the throne, not the son of the current Cruarch; it was the cause of a war which divided the Albans just about 19 years before. Hyacinthe..  
  
About him, there are stories written.  
  
Many years back, the Straits had divided Alba and Terre D'Ange; nearly no ship could cross them. When Phedre no Delaunay and Joscelin, the Courtesan and the Cassaline I had seen earlier, had endeavored to reach Alba and return to Terre D'Ange, they had been brought to the Three Sisters, a group of Islands which housed the Master of Straits.  
  
To go on they had to answer a riddle; Phedre answered it, but the half Tsingano lad Hyacinthe, using the powers of the dromonde, to look into the future and past, to answer more completely. Phedre and the others left the island. Hyacinthe stayed, and became Master of Straits. Committed to freeing him, Phedre finally did, 9 years past. He married Sibeal, and all had been well enough since then, except for occasional bouts of slight madness, in which the most fantastic of storms would be created by his power.  
  
The waltz ended all too quickly, my father bowing to me as he chuckled.  
  
"Now that I have taken my promised dance, I have other business to attend to..another Lady of Marsilikos to find." A wolfish grin overtook his visage, along with an up to this point suppressed glint of longing. "Until next time, Marsilikos."  
  
"Indeed, Rousse." Fondly I watched his thread his way through the throngs of people, searching for my mother. I idled there for a moment before drifting off, the numb sensation settling upon my mind once more. A lad asked me to dance; I obliged, thankful for my dancing instructor whom had drilled the steps so deeply into my brain I could follow without thinking. Another dance, another partner, my senses fading to merely a swirling of color, of faces filed away but lost names.  
  
It was about this time, when my parents managed to find and kidnap me, whisking me away from the dancing floor. Again I was thankful when a feeling entered my mind, and then promptly discarded any such grateful feelings.  
  
With my parents were the Comtesse de Montreve, Messire Joscelin Verreuil.and Imriel. ::I rather liked the frozen feeling.:: I thought, curtsying to the three of them. I had spent a decent amount of time about the Queen, Cruarch, Dauphine, and Princess, and thus was passably well acquainted with them. But these three...  
  
Not only stories are written about them; they are legend. Imriel's true parents- traitors to the throne, Benedicte de la Courcel and Melisande Shahrizai de la Courcel, they are in many a story. His foster parents, Phedre and Joscelin.  
  
I do not have the words to explain their story; I have not the time nor room to inscribe upon these pages the list of all their magnificent adventures. 'Twas enough for the Queen to grant Phedre the Companion's Star- allowing her the right to address Ysandre by name in public and granting her rights above anyone else. My parents, while quite close to the two, did not have me around whilst they were accompanied by them. And so I knew only of legend, nothing of their real persons. They meet such stories with ease, and that is perhaps what started the nerves fluttering about in my stomach again.  
  
Or it could have been Imriel. Either way, they began to resurface. A merry tune was struck up by the musicians, and my father offered his arm to Phedre, who accepted it with a smile. Joscelin took my mothers arm.leaving me alone with Imriel. Following the course set by our parents, the Prince offered me his arm, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile.  
  
"May I have this dance?" The words were customary, and I accepted with a nod of my head, placing my fingertips lightly on the surface of his coat. He was garbed in midnight blue, accenting his sapphire optics and raven- black hair. Leading me skillfully to the dance floor he bent his head forward to murmur something in my ear, as he was a good foot above my own 5'3" stature.  
  
"Nathalie de Mereliot, we have not met before, have we?" His tone was amused, though it did not in anyway seem rude. I paused before shaking my head.  
  
"No, I do not believe we have, Imriel no Montreve de la Courcel." I replied, employing his full name as he had used mine. I did not incorporate my fathers name into mine- he had chosen to leave my taking his name up to my own discretion, when I reached the age of 18. Imriel made a face at the name, laying one hand at my waist and another on my shoulder as I did the same to him.  
  
"I prefer Imriel, or Imriel no Montreve. The 'de la Courcel' I would drop, if I was allowed to do so." He said with a scowl, beginning to run through the steps. I followed easily; he was taught very well, and it was not hard to keep his lead.  
  
"Then Nathalie will do. Or Mereliot, as some are wont to call me." I decided against commenting upon his dark remarks aimed at his true parents, even as the gray foam rose in my gaze once again. Blinking it back was to no avail; but it blew off after a moment, as if a breeze had lifted it. I would have taken it into puzzlement, but I had not the time; Imriel was speaking once again.  
  
"If you will call me Imriel, I will call you Nathalie, then. Our parents seem to be close enough to use first names." He gestured towards our relatives, and I again noticed his wording deliberately shunning his parents, though there was no bitterness in his tone.  
  
"I will do that, Imri-"  
  
My voice was cut off by a tremendous crash of china and crystal, echoing throughout the hall. Immediately screams rose from the ladies and not just a few men, either from horror, fright, or annoyance at being interrupted. Another smash and I was jerked down to the floor along with Imriel. I hadn't the presence of mind to see who it was at the time; my concentration was upon the screams. It was Joscelin, who had brought out his daggers, and now crouched down over Phedre and near Imriel, warding both with his weapons, I learned later.  
  
I hadn't the time to even glance at it later; for an agonized shriek tore through the room, echoing off the rafters.  
  
A dying being's scream.  
  
((Please review/comment, I would really appreciate it. Thankies!)) 


	4. Darsanga

Disclaimer: Again, I do not own any of these characters but Nathalie. Please comment, tell me what you think. This chapter will explain more about their customs. No flames, please. Also, statements within the :: are thoughts, as I have yet to learn the HTML required for fanfiction, Thank you again.  
  
Eisheth's Call  
  
******  
  
Chapter Three: Darsanga  
  
The scream echoed on through my mine, even after the actual sound ended. Again the gray foam rose up, but this time it crashed against my senses, numbing all of them, except for the incessant need to stand, to comfort, to end the torment of their mind and body. The world blurred around me, the distortion of an Angel's presence, I was told later. At that moment I doubt I noticed; for the screech was revoiced.  
  
I rose, not heeding the exclamations of Imriel, the admonishes of Joscelin and my father, the worried question of my mother. I would have seemed rather dazed, but for the purposeful gait as I made my way to the origin of the shriek. Eisheth was watching, I am sure of it; I did indeed hear arrows whistling past me, but not one found its mark this day.  
  
The wounded person soon came into my vision; a male honey-skinned non- D'Angeline, clutching his shoulder. A blossom of color could be seen underneath his fingers, a dark crimson fit to match my gown. An arrow lying next to him, broken and bloody explained this wound quickly; the arrow head was still attached, so at least I would not have to pull it out.  
  
I started at the last thought, breaking my reverie. I was not a healer; yes, I knew how to bind smaller cuts and scrapes and yes, I had some sort of training 'just in case'. But this was no longer dealing with a bruised knee, a splinter in my thumb; this was a life.  
  
A hand grabbed my arm; I attempted to shake it off, but the fingers closed more tightly about the appendage.  
  
"Where are you going?" Came the growled voice, one I was not familiar with immediately. "There are arrows shooting about!" The obviousness of the words almost brought a chuckle from my throat.  
  
"Well seen." I mutter, wrenching my arm free. I still didn't glance towards his face, the hold upon my mind still driving me to stop the echoing screams in my head. Feeling the other person- a man, I was sure- make another grab for my arm I whirled about, stepping over a fallen decoration to reach the injured man. A muttered curse, a plea cried; nothing truly registered on my mind. It was all filed carefully away, for future recollection.  
  
Kneeling beside the wounded man I swept my skirts about me, laying the garnet fabric away from the man. 'Twas not only vanity that lead to this action- it wasn't decent for bandages anyhow. The color was so alike the color of blood it would be difficult to tell how heavily he was expelling blood, and would therefore be rather useless.  
  
For a moment I merely sat there, rather confused. The unremitting urge in my mind to reach the man, to cease his screaming, rapidly loosened. I heard a sigh; perhaps my own, perhaps another's. ::You shall learn.:: A voice murmured into my mind, certainly not my own. I lifted my hand to check his pulse, a movement unconscious, laying my fingers gently against his throat. It was weak, but there, indicating his state of living.  
  
I made to pull my fingers away, but my vision suddenly shifted, skewing to one side as the ballroom became a blur, as if I was spinning out of control, and my outward vision abruptly went black, the only gaze I had the one in my mind..  
  
My knees suddenly hit against cold hard stone, jarring my mind clear of thoughts. I blinked away the tiny dots of black, attempting to trace my way through my muddled thoughts.  
  
Sadly, it was not to happen anytime soon.  
  
In front of me loomed a dark, domineering building; I could feel the vibrations of hatred and death radiating from the structure. It was a desolate place, a place of nightmares, of the immense and staggering weight of slaughter, of depression, of betrayal. Patches of the dirt were stained, and with what was a simple matter to guess, owing to the pile of bodies that littered the ground.  
  
A shuddering breath entered my lungs, bringing in the taste of the destruction and revulsion, bile rising in my throat. Ever so slowly my gaze rotated about the scene, a numb feeling the only barrier between the horror and reaction. Bodies, so many bodies crumpled at random, stacked nonchalantly, mutilated and defecated upon, lay everywhere. The lone fortress in the only added to the feeling of desperation, ebony stone foreboding as the bodies that decorated the ground.  
  
So deep was the pain engraved upon the land, so dark were the minds of the creatures which once were here even the sun did nothing to dispel the feeling of oppressive weight. The light seemed a mockery of all that should be, a challenge to make merry amidst the horrendous backdrop. And even so, all seemed dim, adding to the already surreal quality of the land. The most terrifying part was that it was real.this place truly existed in the world which but a few moments ago felt so bountiful and endless.  
  
I was sure it was real. I was hallucinating, or something similar, yes; but the image I saw was real, the stench, the horrendous battering urge to bow my head and sob, or laugh, or scream, or do something to end this numbness that fell upon my very being upon arriving to this place.it was real.  
  
It was real.  
  
A person, a grinning face.scenes sped past me, too fast to catch any more then a glimpse of the memory. Beatings, threats, terror, stark fear, and Blessed Elua the pain...the grinning face was always there, laughing insanely. And then blurring, whirling colors, as reality skewed once more, hurling me back, away from the madness, from the pain, from the weight of death..  
  
Again cold stone met my knees, and then my torso and head as I collapsed on the marble floor of the ballroom. I blinked dizzily as the man- was he not injured? sat up, a sharp pain slicing through my shoulder. ::Eisheth.::  
  
Blackness threatened to overtake my vision, swimming in the corners of my gaze. I took a breath, and then another; the decimation still hovering about my mouth. Voices, I heard them; two familiar, three vaguely so, various others at varying degrees of recognition in my horribly distorted mind. Footsteps, rushing over to where I lay, my semi-conscious state registering inane facts and completely ignoring others- such as the welfare of the wounded- was he still wounded? man.  
  
"Nathalie, Nathalie, Blessed Elua what have you done?"  
  
"Look at his shoulder-"  
  
"Have they stopped?"  
  
"Who's wounded?"  
  
"Fools, the girl is just lying there, help her!"  
  
"Nathalie." A voice out of so many pierced the oncoming fog. Two eyes peered worriedly at mine. They were of a dark, rich brown color; but one had a spot of red, blood pricked. "Nathalie, what did you see?"  
  
Phedre's voice was comforting and warm, flowing through the tangled mess of cries and shouts, of the general mayhem of the room. I felt so cold, so numb, so empty, the dark fortress rising once again in my mind's eye..  
  
"Nathalie, what did you see?" She asked again, laying a hand on my shoulder. I managed to blink, shaping the word with my lips before adding a voice to it.  
  
"Darsanga."  
  
I whispered it, but she heard it; I know so because she recoiled as if struck, the last thing I saw before the darkness swamped me, blissfully empty and silent, comforting, the word echoing through my mind even so.  
  
Darsanga...  
  
******  
  
((This will be explained next chapter, for those of you who have not read Kushiel's Avatar. Please comment on this chapter- I really appreciate it, as it helps me improve my writing! Thanks!  
  
-DarthPixie)) 


	5. Eisheth's Call

Disclaimer: Again, I do not own any of these characters but Nathalie. Please comment, tell me what you think. This chapter will explain more about their customs. No flames, please. Also, statements within the :: are thoughts, as I have yet to learn the HTML required for fanfiction, Thank you again.  
  
Eisheth's Call  
  
******  
  
Chapter Four: Eisheth's Call  
  
I lay there, in the darkness, for a long while, by my own accounting.  
  
By everyone else's, 'twas a full three days before I awakened to the foam of gray within my gaze, in a chamber unfamiliar to me, with all of the decorations in white. I blinked, then attempted to sit up; I did so easily, for all of the fuzziness in my mind of my stay within the comforting dark.  
  
As I did the door swung open, a woman garbed in ivory hurrying in. She froze as she saw me sitting in the bed, attired in some sort of dressing gown- not my own, I knew. After a moment of resembling a deer caught in the gaze of a hunter the woman turned and bolted, much to my chagrin.  
  
A part of my mind wondered how she could run in that infernal ivory dress that reached to her ankles, and another piece chuckled at this thought. With an exasperated sigh I halted the train of thought, listening as her footsteps receded into silence. The ensuing silence threatened to toss me back into the waves of black; I have never enjoyed the lack of sound. To combat the annoying lack I cleared my throat- or tried to.  
  
Even the cough was broken for disuse, and when I tried to murmur a word it came out wheezed and garbled, completely unlike my voice. I attempted again, and then grabbed the glass of water beside my bed. Not truly caring who had possibly used it, I took a long gulp of the water, and dipped my fingers under the cool surface of the water. I dabbed my fingers at the corners of my eyes, in hopes of removing the residue of sleep.  
  
Again I endeavored to create a noise, and this time the attempt produced a passable sound- still harsh and grating, but understandable. Another swallow of water, and I settled back against the pristine white pillows. Fragments of memory danced through my mind's eye, but nothing hinted at where I was- or what had happened. I last remembered the foam, a signal of something, I was sure. But what? Some sort of instinct?  
  
My question was not left unanswered. At that moment another woman bustled in, garbed in a similar gown. Two figures followed her; I recognized them instantly. One possessed coal black hair, so similar to my own, streaked with gray. Another was far taller, with eyes nigh mirroring my own, lines wrinkling the forehead that were not present before.  
  
"Hello mother, hello father." The words were still awkward from misuse, and I winced inwardly. The darkness must have claimed me for longer then I had originally suspected...  
  
"Nathalie!" One word, just my name; it was murmured happily, full of wonder.  
  
I opened my arms to my mother, who hurried over, and embraced me. The hug was gentle, as if afraid of harming me; though she clung for a moment longer, and I saw the relief in her eyes as she finally released me. My gaze turned to my father, who had trailed in my mothers wake. He touched my mother's shoulder gently before wrapping his arms around me.  
  
This also betrayed how worried they must have been, for the embrace was not bone cracking as most of his were. ::Elua, how long was I out to scare them so...::  
  
The woman who had entered first cleared her throat, shifting her weight to one side. She was a comely young woman, as D'Angelines are, her tresses golden in hue and her eyes a brilliant shade of emerald.  
  
"Perhaps, my lady and my good sir, 'twould be wise for me to explain to Nathalie what placed in such a sleep that sustained for three days." The words were kind, with a subtle hint to encourage this idea. My mother was the first to respond, taking my father's arm and drawing him out of the room. I was left, with this woman, lips parted from the knowledge of how long I had drifted through the dark.  
  
"Quite a while, isn't it? We thought you would heal faster, but as it was your first time." Her words registered; the rest had done my mind good, even though it had wreaked havoc on my voice. But the meaning was lost; first time?  
  
"I'm afraid I don't quite understand." I croaked, watching as she padded over and seated herself upon my bed. Her eyes held great compassion as they rested upon my face.  
  
"Then I will explain it to you, Nathalie." She did not use my title, and neither did she introduce herself. My newly awakened thoughts picked out the symbol on her shoulder; 'twas of Eisheth, meaning she was a healer as well as a priestess. The priestess paused for a moment, then began her story.  
  
"I shall begin with a tale of long ago. I have no doubt you have heard of the Comtesse de Montreve, Phedre." I did not reply, merely nodding my head. Who hadn't heard of her? She was a hero of the realm thrice over; she would not be forgotten easily. "She is Kushiel's Chosen, god marked by him. I will not delve into that realm. Phedre is important in this story only because of her status amongst the gods. Kushiel and Naamah, though especially Kushiel, have gifted her with talents no other possesses, unless decided upon by the god. These could be called gifts of Gods; they could be curses of the immortals. Either way, they are set aside with these god marks."  
  
Again the priestess paused, looking at me intently. "Every god has these chosen; they are simply few and generally unheard of. Except for Naamah's Servants, it is a select group, though why they are picked is for the Gods to know and only for them to know. Eisheth's god marked mortals are known as Eisheth's Light, and are under Eisheth's Call, just as Kushiel casts his dart. There hasn't been an Eisheth's Light in at least a century."  
  
My eyebrows had drawn together, filing the information away. I said nothing still; her story was not yet over. "Those under Eisheth's Call are not just healers. They have a particular talent for mending wounds, but their true power healing of the mind. Basically, Eisheth's Light draws the pain from another and takes it for their own, the ultimate act of compassion. They have an incredibly empathy to do this; whether it be physical or a haunting of the mind, they can take the pain for their own."  
  
She regarded me gravely, the gray foam rising once more in my gaze. ::This...this...Eisheth above...:: I could not speak the words that threatened to tear my throat in twain.  
  
"Duchese Nathalie de Mereliot, you are Eisheth's Light."  
  
The words seem to echo about the room. A pounding throb rose in my temples, incessantly crashing against my skull. The room skewed, tilting over on its side as gray foam reared its head into my vision, washing over the background.  
  
"I...I...why in the world do you think that?" My words were incredibly foolish sounding; I knew it before they left my mouth. In defense, I had spent 3 days in the darkness because of this revelation; my thoughts certainly were not entirely coherent as of yet. The woman gifted me with an arched eyebrow, before sighing.  
  
"Nathalie, that man at the ball had a shoulder wound, due to an arrow. His mind was tormented with images half remembered, feeling more then knowing what had occurred. Once you went over to him, his open gash- mind you, it was bleeding quite a bit- was completely healed, with only a trace of a scar. Now his mind rests easy, for you shouldered the burden of both pains. And being 'twas your first time, you exerted an incredible amount of power- and therefore spent three days in a faint. My dear, there was no question. Those who follow Eisheth's Path know her lore."  
  
Perhaps my mind had taken this into account before; perhaps it merely needed to be said. Whatever it was, my thoughts, which had previously been rioting, calmed, waiting for her next words.  
  
"Once you acquaint yourself with your ability, it will not take as much out of you. Mayhap you are only dizzy; if you are lucky enough, you experience no side effects, only the pain you take from the other. I warn you though: do not take this gift-curse lightly. Those who are God-Touched do not spend their time healing minor cuts and slightly strained minds." Her face was grave, perfectly somber. "I cannot overstress the possible repercussions for misusing your ability. Nathalie, I caution you not to attempt to find out."  
  
This was all carefully filed away, cementing her words in my memory. Certain tales of Phedre are used as warnings to frighten children; not many enjoy the gift of being the victim of an attempted skinning. I did not wish to transverse that path. Always I have been rash, impulsive; never, however, have I been constantly foolish. I would not endanger myself by acting recklessly with a gift of a Goddess.  
  
"Priestess...I have one other question for you." I began hesitantly. The nature of the request had previously been slumbering along with the rest of my conscious; what awakened it, I can not hazard a guess. "The...the memory I saw..." My voice trailed off; the nightmarish place rose into my forethoughts. The sudden horror, the tremendous weight of the hatred, of the blood, the bodies strewn about, the stench of blood ever-present, and that grinning face, forever grinning, slammed into me with force.  
  
The coils of my stomach rebelled; I had taken no food, however, and so I was left to dry-retch until I gained control of my revolted self. The priestess said nothing, much to her credit, simply waiting until control descended upon my slight frame. "What....what was that place?" The words cracked, my voice barely a whisper. Looking at me with sympathy, the woman shook her head.  
  
"Nathalie, I cannot answer that completely. All I know I heard from the Comtesse..." 'Twas her turn to hesitate, shaking her head slowly from side to side. "You saw a murdered country, its city defiled by hatred and its citizens either cruelly put to death or consumed with fear and greed for power. Phe?dre can answer your question, if you coax it out of her; or even...." A slight, humorless smile came to her face. "If you wish, seek out Imriel no Montreve. He, too, knows of the place which you saw. Both, however, were altered forever by what they were made to bear witness too. I warn you of this."  
  
A knock sounded in the room, a nameless face appearing and then disappearing rapidly. The priestess sighed, and then rose from her sitting position. "Once you have more fully recovered, we shall speak of this again. I will endeavor to find Phedre. I believe the lady wishes to speak to you as well. Until then, Duchese."  
  
With that she turned and exited, graceful even in that abominable creation of white silk. As the ensuing silence began to reverberate against the walls, thoughts started whirling about, tossing half images into my mind's eye. Various images danced and wove together, forming an intricate pattern. I uttered a sigh and dropped my head back to the pillow, possibly even more buried under half-answered questions and partly voiced thoughts then before. Closing my eyes, I surrendered myself once more to the darkness, which was blissfully silent.  
  
****** ((I apologize for the delay in my writing. The next one should be along shortly. I am also most sorry for the presence of possible confusion if you haven't completed the trilogy- which you should do *Cough*. I'll clear that up next time. Please read and review! Thanks!  
  
-Darth)) 


	6. Summons

Disclaimer: Again, I do not own any of these characters but Nathalie. Please comment, tell me what you think. This chapter is long in coming, due to a combined problem of midterms and my computer crashing. I hope it makes up in part for the wait. No flames, please. Also, statements within the :: are thoughts, as I have yet to learn the HTML required for fanfiction, Thank you again.  
  
Eisheth's Call  
  
Chapter 5: Summons  
  
"Nathalie, do you intend to answer the summons of the Queen before the coming of the New Year?"  
  
A rather colorful string of words followed this question from the other side of the heavily carved wooden door. I had just finished bathing; never would I say I did not enjoy the comforts of the wealthy. A new gown, this one the color of the midnight sky, hung at a haphazard angle on my slight frame, only partially donned.  
  
"It is my intent to do so, but it all depends on the state of the roads in the City of Elua." My reply was dry and was tinged with impatience. One of the serving maids stepped forward to assist in my dressing, drawing the satin over my shoulders and hips, adjusting it so the folds of the skirt fell properly.  
  
An irate feeling rose within me at this, even as I tolerated their fussing. My parents were convinced I still required coddling and special attention from that fated day but two weeks ago- just about as convinced as I was that I was entirely recovered.  
  
My father, the speaker on the other side of the door, sighed loudly and surprise replaced the irritation.  
  
I could hear the nerves in my father's sigh; even as I do not scare easily, my father does not. He has faced the Straits and what lurked beneath; I doubt at times he has known the touch of fear.  
  
Unnerved by this, I didn't attempt to halt or dissuade the helpers flitting about, adorning me with jewels, coaxing my hair into a suitable style, and touched my lips and cheeks with color. Even without the subtle urging of my father they soon finished with me; they, too, sensed the tinge of anxiety in my father's tone, and it did not settle well with them either.  
  
The satin of the dress conformed to my slender form, the design simple a deceptively simply sheath lacking sleeves to better suit the season. It whispered as the attendants swept me out of the room and out to the waiting carriage; my father was already there waiting, along with my mother.  
  
One of the stable lads offered to aid me in reaching my parents in the carriage, but I quickly declined. I felt I was sufficiently recovered from my debut, and, as also, determined to prove it to my parents. I ascended the stairs and seating myself across from my parents, met their guarded and apprehensive gazes.  
  
"I apologize for the lateness of my coming." I murmured, suddenly finding the lush cerulean interior of the carriage highly interesting. Neither of my parents said a word, and I made no further journeys into the realm of attempted conversation. There was a brooding atmosphere to the two of them, and I had lived with them long enough to realize it was an atmosphere best left to blow itself off.  
  
There was a slight lurch as we started forward, and I directed my eyes to the window to view the short passage to the Palace.  
  
As Lady of Marsilikos, my mother could easily have commandeered a suite in the Palace itself for us to reside in during our stay in the City of Elua. 'Twas much more pleasant, however, to stay in one of the surrounding guesthouses than in the Palace itself, with the intrigues and gossip common to the Court.  
  
The building of the Palace soon came into view, pristine marble shimmering in the early summer sunshine. My parents still had uttered nothing, albeit they had exchanged meaningful glances a handful of times. Try as I might, I could not decipher what lay in those glances. The clattering of the carriage and of the creatures that pulled it ceased once we drew in front of the Palace, and the door sprang open, as if on it's own accord.  
  
My mother exited first, followed by my father. Once his broad shoulders had left the shadows of the carriage I rose and stepped out into the sunshine, blinking to shield my blue-gray gaze as it adjusted to the sudden light. It was in vain, for my mother wasted no time in sweeping into the Palace, the entry doors again springing open.  
  
Rousse trailed my mother languidly, his long stride gaining on her rather shorter ones with each step. I followed just behind them, my fingers clasped together in front of me and my chin raised to just the correct angle, neither too humble nor too arrogant to other persons approaching.  
  
The guards all recognized my father and let us pass without comment or question; my parents were here often enough to know their way about.  
  
As I padded along the corridor leading to one of the queen's council rooms, my thoughts wandered yet again to that night of my debut. The memories of that forsaken place had not loosened their grasp on me; every other night since then I had awaken, breathless, the oppressive and revolted feeling still clinging to me, the horrific images still flashing before my eyes. I let my eyelids drop for a moment to cease the litany of thoughts that followed the images if I didn't halt them.  
  
Once I opened my eyes I barely stopped in time before I walked straight into my mother. Still, the stop was not jarring- the graceful movements drilled into my head since I was but a child did not drift away as easily as my thoughts did. The door to the council room was opening quickly to announce our presence.  
  
A signal was given and we were ushered in, three chairs appearing for our comfort. My father bowed as my mother and I curtsied to the queen; as I rose I noticed the three other already in attendance and felt a barely noticeable rushing of warmth to my cheeks.  
  
Comtesse de Montreve, Messire Joscelin Verreuil, and Imriel no Montreve de la Courcel were all seated with the Queen and likewise inclined their head to acknowledge our arrival.  
  
"Roxanne, Quintilus, Nathalie. Please, sit." The Queen Ysandre de la Courcel gestured towards the seats, and all of us seated ourselves, my parents offering smiles to Phedre and Joscelin- returned, of course. Their eyes carefully avoided mine. Imriel simply sat there- there was no better term for it- and took it all in, eye expressionless.  
  
"I asked you all here today because of the events at Nathalie's debut but a few weeks ago." Ysandre said this almost bluntly, coming right to the point and disposing of the sugared courtly phrases that usually graced the words of high-ranking lords and ladies of the realm. "Because of the violent attack that injured quite a few people, and investigation was made."  
  
My eyes widened slightly; my training held enough to keep me from making any other sign of surprise. Because of my unfortunate meeting with the floor, and sequential events, I had been unaware many more had been injured in the course of the evening.  
  
"The instigators of this attack were promptly apprehended and have been...persuaded to speak of who sent them." From her pause, the Queen clearly indicated she had no wish to discuss how they received the information. "The men insisted, time and time again, the name of their employer was unknown to them; all they knew was that they were here to injure someone. Someone rather important."  
  
From the expressions upon the faces of the others, it was not a hard fact to ascertain that the Queen had told no one of this as of yet.  
  
"They were here, solely, to injure the Comtesse de Montreve."  
  
The gazes of five people went instantaneously to Phedre, the smiles that had been present just moments ago faded, replaced by smooth, featureless court masks.  
  
"It was ill-planned; the men had no idea whom she was, and seeing a mark of crimson against mahogany, they attacked. They did not pause to consider that a man with a crimson band of mourning clearly was not the person they were looking for."  
  
Ysandre paused, sipping at a glass of water. Arranged as we were in a semi- circle, with her in the center and Phedre on her right, my father on her left, all attention was focused to her.  
  
"There was one other thing we learned of any merit- where these men came from. They came..." She trailed off for a moment, glancing to Phedre, then to Imriel, and finally, to me. "...from Darsanga."  
  
(Alright, I know, it's a cruel way to end a chapter. BUT. I knew I had to post something, and this is all just to reintroduce everyone, including myself. The next chapter will be coming soon- I promise- and we'll see the story finally starting to move.) 


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